The Potions Master
by Lexi Temple Sparks
Summary: Carys Chambers, a seventh-year Hufflepuff student (during Philosopher's Stone), is embarrassed about her secret obsession with her favourite professor. As her time at Hogwarts comes to an end, she begins to hope for more than just mutual respect with him.
1. Chapter 1

I straightened my yellow-and-black tie in the mirror, put on my matching scarf, and checked to make sure all my soft red curls were tamed. Satisfied, I grabbed a notebook and only my _Advanced Potion Making_ book, as Potions was the only class I had before lunch that day. I paused a moment, closing my eyes, holding my book to my chest, and taking a deep breath, before heading off to class.

* * *

Potions was by far my favourite subject. As a future healer and apothecary, I also enjoyed Herbology and the other classes required for the job, but none of those other classes were taught by Severus Snape.

When I'd first arrived at Hogwarts, I saw Professor Snape just as cold and scary as the other students did, especially after having been sorted into Hufflepuff House. However, knowing how important potion making was to my aspired profession, I kept my head down, my mouth shut, and did the best I could in his classes. Somehow, I'd managed to survive practically unseen in class, though my grades were nearly perfect.

Then in third year, I caught a tiny glimmer of impression in his eyes when he checked the girding potion I'd brewed. I'd never seen him give that look for anything made by anyone who was not in Slytherin. It felt good — like I'd just accomplished the impossible; I wanted to chase that feeling. From that moment on he no longer seemed _quite_ so scary or mean, but actually, possibly, human.

Early in my sixth year, I'd been having an extra hard time with my current assignment for Alchemy, so I bought some Felix Felicis, a luck potion, from a seventh-year, hoping it would save me. Instead, it gave me the urge to practise in the potion-mixing room. I was the only student there. I worked on tweaking the recipes of some of the potions I'd learned in previous years, to see if it was possible to make the effects or brewing more efficient. Professor Snape eventually walked in, briefly examined some of my work, and began belittling my results and discrediting me. Whatever I said in response —something about me working to better my brewing skills when I had other, more pressing homework to do in order to pass, and I didn't deserve to be insulted over it—, my current state of luck had me say it in a way that it _somehow_ got through to the professor, after a little back-and-forth. After that day, he seemed to have some sort of an unspoken respect for me — in his own way, of course, which really just meant he wasn't a jerk to me.

* * *

Now nearing the end of the first term of my seventh year, nostalgia was starting to sink in. Everything was my last at Hogwarts: classes, Quidditch games, all-nighters in the library, sneaking into the kitchens with other Hufflepuffs to grab late-night snacks to share, et cetera. I savoured my studies, I appreciated my friends, classmates, and professors to a greater degree, and attended every event I could. My heart ached the week before, when Professor McGonagall took names of those staying at school for Christmas. I asked her for a couple extra days to consider it, and finally decided that I would go home. None of my friends would be staying, and my Muggle family had already missed me for every birthday these seven years.

All of this went through my mind as I headed to class, and I chided myself. I knew better: my mind had to stay focused — I couldn't get distracted with these emotions if I wanted to continue to excel. And the whole point was to remember living at Hogwarts, not to remember being sad that it was almost over.

My heart began to pound with anticipation as I approached the classroom. Everyone else was in their seat when I arrived, though there was still plenty of time before class started. As I made my way to my seat at middle-right, I looked around at the only-familiar faces. None of my friends had made a high enough grade on their O.W.L.s for this year. I often wished that Tonks was still around, but since she was a year ahead of me, I'd eventually accepted the likelihood of my being alone here this year. I sat in my seat and briefly reviewed my notes from the previous session for the full minute before Professor Snape entered the room.

In all but his skin, he was head-to-toe black. Hair, eyes, clothes— even his voice was dark; softly spoken, yet deep and booming.

I sat up straight and gave him my full attention. The only fear he commanded from me anymore was respect — one thing that had drastically changed over the last few years. A couple of times during the lesson that day, his eyes briefly landed on me. Both times, I held my breath and I _prayed_ I didn't blush. Another thing that had changed.

I managed to make it through another class without accidentally showing a swooning smile, or letting out a _squee_ like a, erm, schoolgirl.

 _God_ , _me!_ I thought at myself as I walked in the direction of the Great Hall, my favourite school book clutched tightly to my chest. _Of all the crushes to have, why did you have to get one on_ him _?_ This stupid thing had been going on for well over a year now, and I'd never told a soul; not even Elladora, my best friend. I was _sure_ that I was the only student to ever be infatuated with Professor Snape, and I just _knew_ that I would become a laughingstock and _literally_ die of embarrassment. Every time I thought it might be waning, I'd see him in class or around the school, and it would all come back. Even after summer break.

God.

I sat alone on a bench outside the Great Hall, and went over my notes and bits in my book about the volubilis potion I'd have to make in a couple of days. Elladora would meet me here when her class let out shortly.


	2. Chapter 2

A couple days later, I got up a bit early to see my housemates off to their first hour classes, and do something special with my hair. I was extra happy today — it was my birthday. It was also the last day for half my classes before school let out for Christmas. I knew Professor Sprout had a small party planned in her class that afternoon, my favourite trifle would be served with lunch, and Elladora had arranged for butterbeer and a small cake to celebrate in our common room after dinner. The real party would take place on Saturday, once everyone was done with their work for the term, when a few of us would have a silly celebration at Madam Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade.

Today was also the day I would make my volubilis potion, and receive my grade. I may not have been generally afraid of Snape, but having my work evaluated by him was still unnerving. To help calm my nerves, I went over the homework I was to turn in the next day for Charms class.

I arrived a bit early to class, and waited in the hall for the current session to end. When the first hour students started filing out of the room, I took a few quiet, deep breaths. When the last person was out, I stood and entered.

Professor Snape was walking down the aisles of the classroom, waving his wand to clear the desks of the empty ingredient bottles. He glanced at me, and to my surprise he greeted, "Miss Chambers."

"Professor," I said, nodding once, and continued to my seat. My heart pounded in my chest. I doodled in my notebook to distract myself. It felt like an eternity before another student entered.

Once the potion making was underway, I worked calmly and confidently. I knew I'd learned this potion well, and fretting over getting it perfect would only cause me to mess it up. Professor Snape began lurking over shoulders, distressing many of the students. I could have been mistaken, but it seemed like he spent a bit longer peering at my work. I wasn't sure if he was curious, impressed, or trying extra hard to make me nervous. Any way, I maintained my concentration. As long as he didn't say anything, that meant he wasn't disappointed.

At long last, I finished. The colour, consistency, and smell were textbook perfect. I poured the finished product into a flask, and took it to the front of the room for the professor to evaluate.

"Finished already, Miss Chambers?" he asked in an accusatory voice as he picked up my flask.

"Yes, sir." I held my breath. He turned the flask over in his hand a couple times, presumably checking the consistency and colour. Then, he removed the cork and gave it a whiff. After a short pause, he returned the cork to its place and set the flask in my direction on his desk.

"Excellent work," he simply said, and marked my grade on a parchment.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

The rest of the day and week was joyous. I received letters from my parents and sister, I had a great time with my friends, Hagrid had set up the twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall, and I allowed myself to accept my stupid crush for a while. The latter was a big relief of stress, actually.

Monday was a bit sadder, though. Most of the students got on the train back to London for the holiday. It was a nice long ride with my friends in our little compartment, but the moment the three of them decided to roam the train, I just grew sombre and stared out the window. I wondered what it would have been like to live at school for Christmas, with nowhere I needed to be, so few students, special meals and pudding, and the presence of Professor Snape. I wondered if he enjoyed Christmas at all.


	3. Chapter 3

In late February, I joined Elladora and a couple of her Ravenclaw friends to watch the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch game. We took our seats in the stands, and Elladora pulled out the crisps and popcorn she had packed in a bag for us to share during the game. The four of us spent the time before the teams emerged chatting about Elladora's crush on our friend, who happened to be Hufflepuff's Keeper, while her younger friends were partial to Gryffindor's.

And speaking of crushes:

The teams were welcomed into the pitch one player at a time, after the announcement that Professor Snape would referee. I didn't know why he was doing the job that normally belonged to Madam Hooch, but I didn't care.

The game was soon underway, and there were cheers of excitement all around us. While I was there to support my team and my friend, I couldn't help but also keep track of the referee.

Snape undeservedly penalised Gryffindor several times during the game. It was a normal thing for him to do, though; he could be talking with someone, and if a student simply glanced at them as they walked by, he'd deduct five points from their house. His special disdain for Gryffindor, and especially Harry Potter, may have been playing in our favour until the Snitch was caught after a mere five minutes, but it still made me sigh and shake my head every time he did it.

Despite not approving of his biased behaviour as referee, I still walked away from the game with a high from having seen him, however brief the game was. But I was also experiencing a sort of withdrawals of not _currently_ seeing him. I decided then that I was utterly hopeless.


	4. Chapter 4

Sometime about a month later, I started to feel truly overwhelmed with my studies. Final exams were fast approaching, and I had so much homework to do. But there was so much on my mind. Well, really just one thing— person. I decided to go to the potion-mixing room to hopefully clear my head so I could properly study in the library.

A couple students were already there, working quietly on their own projects. I set down my cauldron at the far side of the room, and made my way to the shelves of ingredients. I wasn't really sure what I intended to do, but trusting myself, I just started grabbing bottles. I then lit the flame under my cauldron and began brewing.

It was working. My head was clearing, my mind freeing. I was in the zone — this was where I belonged. Then, when I picked up the jar of Ashwinder eggs, I knew what I was making: a love potion.

Bloody hell.

I decided to go ahead and finish it, get the practice in, and then I might as well follow with the antidote.

Soon after, I became concerned that I'd added way too much peppermint to the mixture. Then, I realised that no, it was just starting to work. It always smelled strongest of peppermint to me, followed by a campfire and the potions classroom, of all things. I just wanted this brewing to be over with already.

I finally had it corked in a phial, and my cauldron cleaned. The student nearest me had long cleared out of the room, apparently realising what I'd been making. He'd taken several deep breaths in my direction before hurriedly packing up his things. I immediately started work on the antidote.

After several minutes, I was the only one left in the room. Thankfully, the second student seemed to simply be finished with her task when she left. I continued brewing, back in the zone after the embarrassment had waned. It wasn't long before I heard someone else enter. When I looked up, there was Professor Snape, with a small box of ingredients in one hand and a parchment in the other. He acknowledged my presence only with a glance before going to place the ingredients on the shelves.

Of _course_ he would be the one to come here right now. As long as he didn't see what I was doing, I'd be fine. I tried to ignore him as I worked, but I remained fully aware of each of his movements. My heart pounded. I tried to keep my hands steady as I poured. I clenched my jaw as I stirred. I heard his footsteps get closer. And closer. I held my breath.

"What's this?" he asked knowingly, as he picked up the love potion and removed the cork to smell it.

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

Oh, my god.

I didn't look at him, but kept working.

He paused before saying, "Amortentia is very powerful, Miss Chambers. I hope you know what you're doing."

I focused to keep my voice calm and responded, "I'm just practising brewing, Professor."

"A teenage girl, alone, brewing the most powerful love potion 'just for practice'?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

"There's no one you'd want to use it on?"

 _OK._ I thought as I paused my brewing. _You know what? I will answer your question honestly:_

"No," I replied, still looking into my cauldron. "I'd rather love be real than induced by magic any day."

Shortly, I resumed my work. He remained there a moment longer, before setting the phial down and leaving the room. Once I could no longer hear his footsteps, I let my guard down and wept quietly.


	5. Chapter 5

On the Tuesday before exams began, the mail arrived during dinner. I kept my head up in case there was anything for me. Then, an owl dropped an envelope in my direction, and I snatched it out of the air before it hit the table. It was a letter from the apothecary in Wigtown — my first choice for an apprenticeship. I opened it excitedly, but tried not to get my hopes up.

"Well, come on — what's it say?" Elladora asked eagerly as my eyes scanned the letter.

My eyes widened and I gasped. "I— I've been accepted!" I laughed with joy and she squealed, then she grabbed and shook me with excitement as I stopped to read the rest of the letter. I froze in shock as I read the second paragraph.

Professor Snape had recommended me.

I pulled on the arm of Elladora's robes, and she stopped shaking me to read the letter herself. She then shared in my shocked expression before responding, "Wow! You must _really_ be good!"

I continued to stare at his name on the page. He really did think I was that good? I turned to look in his direction at the staff table. Once I caught his eye, I held up the letter in my hand and mouthed, "Wigtown. Thank you." He simply nodded, then went back to his food.

As soon as our little group was out of the Great Hall after dinner, they started off toward Hufflepuff Basement. I, however, started in another direction.

"I'll be right there," I said, and headed off. I wanted to catch up with Professor Snape. I made my way quickly toward the back hallway, where the teachers usually exited the Great Hall. I'd noticed him getting ready to leave shortly after we were.

"Professor!" I called when I saw him.

"Yes?" he asked, not slowing his strides.

I still had the letter clutched in my hands when I caught up to him. "You recommended me?"

He kept walking, but turned toward me and replied, "You are one of the best potions students I've had these last ten years. I presumed you would be up for the challenge." He really _did_ think I was that good. If we hadn't been walking, I would have reached up and hugged his neck.

"Thank you, sir!"

"Don't let it go to your head, Miss Chambers."

"Yes, sir." With that, I turned back to meet my friends, beaming.


	6. Chapter 6

In the weeks between exams and leaving school, every seventh-year was at the peak of sentimentality. Everyone was having get-togethers. We spent quality time with friends and non-friends alike, playing games, reminiscing, and talking about any plans for the future. I even witnessed a couple of supposed rivals give each other a nod as they passed in the corridor. Knowing I may never walk these halls, or see most of these people, again, my heart grew heavier with each passing day.

It all felt much worse when it came to my favourite professor. I wanted to talk with him, to spend some time with him, to get to know him a bit better before I left and never saw him again. But I was paralysed with the fear of having him reject me as any sort of friend.

Finally, when I'd finished packing everything but the clothes I were to wear on the train home the next day, I decided it was worth a shot. While I was tempted to use some Felix Felicis, or at least a Draught of Peace, I left to find the professor purely as myself, racking nerves and all. After only a few minutes of searching, I found him in his storeroom atop the ladder. I took a calming breath, before moving to stand no closer than the doorway.

"Professor Snape?"

He looked back only long enough to see who had called his name. "Yes, Miss Chambers?"

I swallowed. "Seeing as how this is my last day here, I was wondering— i-if I may write to you."

He paused his work to turn to me and enquire further. "You wish to write to me?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, then quickly continued before he could object. "You're by far my favourite professor. And since the next step in my life is all about potions, I thought maybe you could advise me if you so wished. Or, at the very least, I could keep you up-to-date on how the apprenticeship is going."

He stared at me a moment, apparently in thought. While I hoped he would oblige, I braced myself entirely for a rejection full of insults. Then, he spoke. "Alright, you may write to me, but don't expect me to respond." All at once, my spirits soared, but I kept my appearance calm.

"Right," I agreed, a bit more airy in breath than I'd have liked. "Thank you, sir," I added in full tone. When he went back to his work, I took the cue and immediately exited. Full of happiness over his consent, I allowed a smile to spread across my face as I made my way back to my room.

* * *

He did respond, though. There were usually several weeks between my sending a letter and receiving one back, but I got them. Wanting to avoid becoming a nuisance, I tried to match his response times. I would often go a bit longer, just to be on the safe side, and I decided to never write more than once a month.

Things began to change after about two years, though. It started with one letter, which he'd signed simply "Severus." No title or surname. I wondered if this meant we were actually friends now. After that, his replies to my letters came much quicker, and they grew a bit longer in length. It took me another couple of months to give in and respond sooner myself.

I felt like I was getting to know him so well. He didn't actually write much about himself, but rather the happenings around him and wizard stuff. But still, I'd never even _dreamed_ of getting to talk with him one-on-one this much while I was his student. And I'd fallen deeply in love.

Then, three years to the day after my last day at Hogwarts, an owl delivered the shortest letter Severus had ever written me. He asked me to stop writing. He didn't say why. And he'd signed it not only with his full name, but his job title. Whatever the reason might be, he was making sure a full distance was established.

Of course, I wouldn't have it; I at least deserved a reason. I scoured my brain, trying to think of what I might have said wrong in my last letter. I wrote him three different times asking why, but never received a response. I finally gave up. It hurt too much. After three years of writing me, making me think that in some way he cared about me as a human being, he demanded an abrupt stop to the relationship without giving cause. Dick move.


	7. Chapter 7

Several months later, my apothecary apprenticeship was coming to an end. While I was offered a paying job where I was, my heart was pulling me more in the direction of being a healer. I kept the job option open, but began applying to several hospitals, small or large. After much debate with myself, the last application I sent was to Hogwarts. I really didn't feel like seeing Severus, let alone being in the same castle at all times, but I knew that even just assisting as a nurse there would be a good move for my career. I was called in to several of the places for interviews, and to be shown my possible workspace. My interview at Hogwarts was scheduled for the day after the students left for the summer.

From the moment I could see the castle in the distance, my mind began to flood with memories. It had been four years since I last stepped foot on the grounds, but I suddenly remembered everything like it had been yesterday. The direction of the Quidditch pitch, and all the games that had taken place there. The warmth of the greenhouses. And despite everything, I let myself fondly remember the potions classes.

Madam Pomfrey greeted me warmly, and recalled the many times I'd come to her with questions about being a healer and to offer my help. The interview went smoothly, and she happily showed me around, bringing up a few of her own memories of injuries she'd treated during my time at the school. Only the amusing ones to think back on, of course — nothing of accidental poisons, severe burns, or other serious incidences.

As it all came to a close, Madam Pomfrey escorted me to the entrance hall. We were walking in the hallway adjacent to it when I saw Snape exit the staff room.

As he reached to close the door behind him, my heart leapt and, briefly forgetting my current disdain for the man, I called out for his attention. "Severus!"

He turned toward me, surprised, and said, "Carys. What are you doing here?"

The matron and I stopped walking, so as not to interfere with the conversation. I suddenly wished I hadn't caught his attention, and sort of fumbled for words.

"She might be working for me in the hospital wing," Madam Pomfrey answered happily. "We've completed her interview, and I was just escorting her out." Severus just looked at me for the moment before I spoke.

"May I speak with you for a bit?" I asked him, and waited.

"I was just heading to my office," he said. "We can talk there." Then, he turned to Madam Pomfrey and added, "I will see her to the door when we're done." She nodded to him, said her good-bye with a squeeze of my neck, and headed back to the hospital wing.

We returned to looking at each other for a brief moment before he simply turned around and started walking, his robes flowing behind him. I followed. We didn't say a word as we walked. My heart pounded. Once we entered his office, I took only a few steps in before turning around to face him.

As soon as the door was closed, I calmly asked, "Why did you stop writing me, Severus?"

He only half turned to me, his hand still holding the doorknob until right before he answered. "The Dark Lord had returned. I knew it was safer for you as Muggle-born if our correspondence ceased. The war has started, and it's _still_ only going to get worse."

So, his instinct in the onset of war was to protect me. My heart began to soften. Satisfied with that answer, I asked, "You couldn't have put that in the letter?"

"It's complicated. For what it's worth, I didn't want to hurt you."

I didn't want to argue his intentions, so I softly responded, "well, you did. I hated you."

"Do you still hate me?"

I looked at him in the eyes, then shook my head and replied, "No." I uncrossed my arms to show my sincerity.

We remained silent. He slowly walked ahead of him and to my left, until he got near the shelves on that wall. He didn't look for or do anything, but seemed to be staring off into nowhere for a while.

"The Amortentia: who was it for?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

"Sorry?"

"That day in your seventh year, you were alone in the potion-mixing room and you made a love potion. Who was it for?"

God, he remembered. "I told you: no one."

"Why did you make it? Who were you thinking of?"

The way he was asking those questions— my god, he knew. He was letting me know without saying the actual words that he knew. I still wasn't absolutely sure, but I answered with the simple truth.

"You." My heart beat so hard, I could swear he heard it. My palms grew sweaty, and I thought I might be sick. But he didn't seem surprised.

I thought he said, "I was in love once," but he sort of mumbled it. He continued to stand there for a while. He cocked his head slightly in my direction and down at the floor; his eyes looking around and his lips slightly parted, as if deciding what to say next.

"That red hair. Those green eyes." Wait. Was he talking about me now? "Always wanting to see the good in me. My friend. Then, I hurt—" He stopped before he finished the thought. I wanted so much to say something, to say I forgave him for hurting me, but no words came.

He turned straight to me and continued. "With this war, we may never speak again after today." My heart began to break at those words. Properly break.

"Unless I get the job here," I said, hanging onto hope.

"Indeed, but you might not." He said it with a sort of finality. I tried desperately to hold back my tears. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I tried shaking my head, but it may have looked more like nervous twitching.

When I opened my mouth to try and say something, all that came out was a single sob, but it was enough to release me from my frozen state. I walked toward him — slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed when he also stepped forward. We reached out our arms and embraced each other.

He held me tightly to him as my tears soaked his shoulder. After a minute or so, I said, "I'm going to miss you terribly."

Before he replied, his hand reached up and caressed my head, and he put his face in my hair. "And I you." He spoke softly.

We remained like that for about another minute. By then, I'd stopped crying, and breathed deeply and slowly as I held myself against him. As he pulled slightly away, the hand on my head gently brought my face up to meet his gaze. Never before had I seen his dark eyes look so soft and warm, yet pained. I didn't resist when I felt the urge to kiss him. It was just a little more than a peck — full on the lips, but quickly breaking away to gauge his reaction. He looked mostly unfazed, then resumed the kiss.

We quickly found a rhythm, and I melted against him. It felt so right — like the pain from all the years of unrequited love and fearing his rejection was all worth it for this moment. I felt so wanted, so needed, in his strong embrace.

Eventually, our kisses had grown more passionate, and he had me up against his desk. When we both realised where this was leading, we reached for our wands — he cleared the desk, and I enchanted the door so no one could enter.


	8. Chapter 8

I watched in my conjured mirror as I carefully tamed my hair. The room was silent, except for the quiet sounds of our movements and our wands setting things back into place. After the excitement of our shared "magical" moment was over, I hard focused on just making sure my appearance showed no hint that anything had happened. I didn't dare look over at Severus, afraid that I might see any regret on his face. I didn't know how to proceed from here, so even when I was satisfied with how I looked, I continued running my fingers through my hair several more times.

When I was about to reach for my wand to release the mirror back into oblivion, I felt Severus' hand on my arm, gently turning me to face him. I barely caught his tender expression before he pulled me in for a hug. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders as all the fear of resentment vanished. He then kissed me for good measure, putting a seal on my security.

After the kiss, we remained close, each gazing at the other. It was strange to see a genuinely happy smile on his face, however small, but I liked it. I felt like I could really _see_ him, his entire soul, and it was beautiful. Soon, though, the reality that this could be the end started to sink in. He must have been thinking the same thing, because I watched his smile slowly dissolve. We pulled into another hug, hanging on tight.

"Carys, it's not going to be safe for you to be here." He loosened his grip enough to look at me as he continued. "I can talk to Dumbledore. He has connections abroad, and I'm sure he could find good work for you."

I paused to let it process, but still only one word stood out to me. "'Abroad'?"

"I want you completely out of harm's way."

"So, we're really _not_ going to see each other after today." His lack of a response was confirmation enough. We just continued to stare at each other.

"What about my family?"

"They shouldn't be in more danger than any other Muggles. But, if you really want them to leave, that's up to you and them."

I let it all process a bit more. I wanted to drag our time out longer, but I couldn't think of what to say. "OK."

"I'll speak with Dumbledore this evening."

Pause. "OK."

"As much as I hate to say this, we still won't be able to write each other."

"OK."

"Carys?"

"Yeah?"

"It's going to be OK."

I forced a slight smile, a little more reassured. "OK."


	9. Epilogue

**Six Years Later**

There was his name, clear as day, etched into the tombstone. The sorrow then hit me all at once. I began sobbing uncontrollably as I ran the remaining distance and collapsed in front of it. With what words I managed to get out, I cursed the war, the dark arts, and Voldemort.

When my rage was spent, I reached my hand out and gently touched the stone as I continued to sob. My fingers began slowly tracing the letters of his name, as if it would somehow bring him back to me. After a while, I'd stopped crying enough to be able to speak.

"We have a son. His name is Severus Alexander, after you and my dad. He also has your last name, so there's a little Severus Snape running around in America." I smiled and exhaled a laugh. "He's brilliant. He's only five, but I was _not_ prepared to have a son as smart as he is — I often underestimate his intelligence.

"He looks so much like you too. I mean, I can see both of us in him, but— He has the same black hair and eyes. And sometimes I can see you in the way he smiles, not that I really ever saw you smile. _Ha ha_.

"The older he gets, the more he asks about you." I grew even more sombre as I continued on that thought. "I answer as honestly as I can, or at least as honestly as I think he can handle at his age. But he's starting to ask questions that I don't know the answer to. I'm starting to realise how little I actually know about you.

"We even wrote each other for three years. You didn't really write much about yourself, or offer many personal details or stories that didn't just happen to happen around you. And I was afraid to ask. Even though you never really rejected me —ever— I still always managed to live with the fear that you might. That's what hurt the most when you stopped writing. I thought I'd finally crossed the line somewhere.

"Maybe things would have been different if we could have spoken after— Well, _after_. I don't know. Damn war.

"Really, I guess the only thing I regret is that I wasn't braver. Oh, well. Maybe I'll learn from that.

"I sort of feel like I'm rambling now. I don't want to leave yet."

I turned to sit on the ground and lean against the tombstone. I didn't speak for a long time. I just sat there and let myself miss him as my packet of tissues diminished.


	10. Alternate Epilogue (Alternate Ending)

**Six Years Later**

The boy and I approached the grave in the distance, his hand tightly clinging to mine. I wasn't sure just how much he fully understood about where we were or what we were going to see, but he remained silent. About halfway there, he quietly pulled on my hand. When I looked at him, he raised his arms to me, indicating he wanted to be held. I nodded and complied with his wishes. I was afraid too. While visiting Severus' grave had become almost routine for me every time I was on holiday in the UK, this was the first time that I'd brought my son.

We walked the rest of the way without a word. His gaze never wavered from straight ahead, and his grasp tightened as we got closer. I stopped walking a few metres from the headstone. I could read his name so clearly it was like someone spoke it. Little Sev pointed at it, and looked at me for confirmation.

"Yeah," I whispered. "That's the one." He looked back to it, and wiped away a bit of hair the breeze had blown onto his face.

Once we were at the grave, I sat down in the grass with my legs crossed, and gestured to Sev to take his place in my lap. He sat down and leaned back against me. We both stared silently at the tombstone. After a while, he leaned forward and rested his head on his fists. I watched to see what he'd do next.

He soon turned to me and, in his adorable American accent, asked, "Can I talk to him?"

I smiled and answered, "Yes. You can say anything you'd like."

He turned back to the stone. A few moments later, he left my lap, sat on his legs, and started speaking softly. "Hi, Dad."

This mother's heart nearly burst. It took all my strength to keep from weeping as I witnessed this beautiful moment. He started off with the "I wish you were here" sort of things, then moved on to telling him about his life. He talked about his friends, his favourite magical creatures, and how much he was looking forward to getting his wand and attending Ilvermorny.

When he ended his little speech, he remained where he was for a moment. Then, he got up on his knees and gently hugged the stone. That did it. I struggled to remain quiet as I allowed the tears to flow. Sev pulled away from the stone and stared at it once more.

As soon as he saw that I was crying, Sev came over and knelt next to me. He gently hugged me and patted my back.

"It's OK, Mom," he said in a reassuring voice. I cried harder. He was so young, yet so strong and ready to take care of his mum. Severus would be proud.

I let Sev comfort me in his way for a while, then I brought him into my lap and held him tight. I finally stopped crying, and allowed time to seemingly freeze as I took in the moment. After a bit of fidgeting, he finally manoeuvred to look at me in the face and asked, "Are you OK, Mom?"

I looked into my son's black eyes, smiled, kissed him on the head, and then returned my gaze to the tombstone. I then replied, "Always."


End file.
